


help for the helpless

by somehowunbroken



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary is just glad she can be there for her brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	help for the helpless

**Author's Note:**

> There won't be any more to this. Please don't request it.

“Hey,” Mary says cheerily when Steve stumbles in around nine in the morning. She’s sitting at the kitchen table in what is technically their house but is really his, eating food that’s definitely not her own. It’s an omelet, or as close as she could make to one with egg whites and the random vegetables in the crisper drawer, and she’s never missed bacon so much in her life. “Long night?”

Steve doesn’t say anything as he staggers past her, heading for the coffeemaker and pouring himself a generous cup. Mary winces as he downs half the mug in one gulp – it’s hot, and Steve’s usually a cream-and-sugar guy. He’s never enjoyed it black, and she looks at him a little more closely as he sets the cup back onto the counter. He looks worn out, like he’d break if she poked him in the side, and he’s holding himself sharply, like he’s expecting someone to come flying out of the shadows at him. Mary realizes with a jolt that she hasn’t seen him this keyed up since Mom died, and she stands and brings her plate over to the sink.

“Bad case?” she asks quietly. She doesn’t know the details of whatever it is that he’s been working on, but he’s been out late at night and he leaves before she’s up most mornings. She’d thought that’s what had gone down last night, too, but then he’d staggered in the door in yesterday’s clothes, and she’d revised her opinion.

Steve doesn’t say a word. His fingers are curled so tightly around the edge of the counter that Mary’s a little surprised he isn’t bleeding from how the edge is digging into his hands. Mary reaches out and sets her hand lightly on top of his, and it’s like he comes to life out of nowhere, a whirlwind grabbing her arm and twisting her around, and she’s facing the ground and blinking back tears before she has a chance to react at all.

“Ow, ow, motherfucker!” she yells, trying to wiggle her way out of her brother’s grasp but going still when she realizes that the pain gets pretty intense when she moves. “Steve! Chill pill!”

“Mary?” Steve sounds confused, a little hollow, and he drops her arm. Mary stands, rolling her shoulder around and wiping her eyes. When she looks up, Steve has backed up until he’s against the refrigerator. Mary sees the other side of his face for the first time and can’t help a gasp - it’s bruised and swollen, still purple all the way to the edges. It happened recently – last night, if Mary’s any judge of bruises, and she’s had her fair share.

“Okay,” she says in a voice more gentle than she thinks she’s ever used with Steve before, “okay, Steve, why don’t you sit at the table and I’ll get something to put on your face?”

Steve nods and moves slowly, moves like he’s aching, stiff and sore. Mary’s prepared to blame the bruising she’s sure is beneath Steve’s shirt as well until he lowers himself into a seat and lets out a little gasp.

The bottom of Mary’s stomach drops out. She buys herself a little time, grabbing a bag of peas from the freezer and wrapping them in a paper towel. She refills Steve’s coffee mug and fixes it the way he actually drinks it before approaching the table noisily, making sure she’s well within Steve’s line of sight the whole time. She sets the mug in front of him and he wraps a hand around it automatically, reaching his other hand to hold the bag in place when Mary sets it against his face. She sits back in the seat she’d been in before, watching as Steve’s shoulders slump further and further. She waits and waits, and he never says a word, so eventually she reaches out and takes the no-longer-frozen bag away from his cheek and sets it on the table.

“Okay,” she says simply, figuring direct is probably the best way to go with Steve. “Okay, you didn’t make it back in last night. You got in some sort of fight.” She hesitates, swallows the crazy fear that’s beating through her, and takes a breath. “Steve, did they – were you-”

Steve doesn’t answer, won’t meet her eyes, and Mary feels dizzy for a minute, sick like she’s never felt before. Steve is staring wordlessly out the back door, down towards the ocean, and Mary has the sudden thought that if she hadn’t been here when Steve walked through the door, he would have kept going until he was in the water, swimming and swimming until he couldn’t use his arms any more.

“Okay,” she says again, mostly because she doesn’t know what else to say. “Did you go to the hospital, Steve?” He turns his head towards her, frowning with the half of his face that isn’t purple and blue and gray. And, okay, she could probably have figured that out on her own, but it’s best to ask the questions. “The police?”

“No,” he says, and it’s the first thing he’s said since he let her go, and it sounds weirdly pained and broken, like he’s ashamed of what he’s done, what he hasn’t done. “No, Mary, please-”

Mary scoots closer, dragging her chair over the linoleum on the floor until she’s close enough for Steve to lean into if he wants. She’s not expecting him to, but she knows what it’s like to need that kind of support, knows what it’s like to think you don’t have anyone to give it, and she’ll be damned if Steve is going to go without.

“Steve,” she says. “Do you – do you remember when I was seventeen, and you were at Annapolis, and I – I called you?” There’s no way Steve doesn’t remember. Mary had only called him once during his entire college career, and from the way Steve’s shoulders tense, he hasn’t forgotten. Mary continues, more gently. “Do you remember what you said to me when I told you that Brent beat the shit out of me?”

“This is different,” Steve says hoarsely. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Do you remember?” Mary persists, and Steve’s shoulders slump a little more. He tilts a little to the side, resting lightly against Mary’s side, and it’s all the invitation she needs to snake her arm around his waist and pull him in as well as she can.

“I told you to go to the police,” Steve says hollowly. There’s no anger in the words now like there had been fifteen years ago. “I told you that even if you didn’t want to, you had to, because it would keep him from hurting his next girlfriend.”

“And you told me that I’d be thankful for it some day,” Mary continues when he goes silent. She knocks her head softly against his shoulder. “You were right. About all of it.”

“I can’t go to the police,” Steve says, and he sounds lost like he never has, not when they were eight and six and got turned around in the forest, and certainly not now. “I just – I have to work with them, I can’t-”

Mary nods and thinks her next words over carefully. “What about someone on your team?” she asks cautiously. Steve’s eyes widen and he starts to shake his head, but Mary keeps going. “You trust them, Steve, and you know they care about you. There’s nobody on the planet that would handle this better.”

“I don’t want them to look at me differently,” he says woodenly. “I don’t – I cant, Mary.” He’s pleading with her now, and everything is off-kilter, up and down and sideways all tangled until she can’t stand for fear that she’ll just topple.

“Do you remember the last thing you told me?” Mary asks after a minute of silence. “The very last thing, before we hung up?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but his eyes are squeezed tightly shut now, and he gives a little nod. Mary leans her head on her brother’s shoulder and speaks softly. “You told me that you wouldn’t make me do anything, that it was my choice to make, and you said that you know that I would make the right call for _me_.” She pauses and breathes in and out slowly. “I’m telling you the same thing now, Steve. I’m not going to go behind your back on this, because it’s your call to make, but I already know you’ll do what you need to do.”

“And you?” Steve asks, turning into her more. Mary wraps her arms around his shoulders and speaks into his chest as he practically folds down into her.

“I’ll be here,” she promises fiercely. “I’ll be right here until you don’t need me to be any more, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve says, exhausted and broken and just so goddamned sad that Mary wants to cry on his behalf. She reaches her hand up and runs her fingers lightly through his hair, humming a fragment of a song she remembers their mom singing when they were sick as kids. They sit in the kitchen for a long time, minutes or hours or days, until Steve gives a shuddering sigh into Mary’s hair.

“Let’s move to the couch,” Mary suggests. “I’ll grab some blankets and we can find something to put on.”

“Can you,” Steve starts haltingly when Mary pulls back a little. She stays right where she is, still close enough for Steve to grab if he needs her. “Can you call them for me? Call Danny?” His eyes are begging, and he looks like he wants to tense back up, to change his mind before she can reply.

“Sure,” she agrees, standing and offering Steve a hand, which he actually takes and uses to help lever himself from the chair. He shuffles past her and goes to slump onto the couch, his head bowed. Mary makes the call quickly, making Danny swear that he’ll come by himself and not freak out, and she’s already moving towards Steve as she ends the call.

“Danny’s on his way,” she tells Steve, who nods and pulls his legs up onto the couch, as if he might be able to block out the world if he puts up enough of a defensive barrier. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Please,” Steve says instantly, reaching out and then stopping, dropping his hand to his lap. “I mean, unless – if you have somewhere else to be-”

“I’ll stay,” she says firmly, settling into the deep back of the couch and reaching to drag Steve in again. He falls into her easily, sliding down until his head is in her lap, his body curled up as tightly as he can make it. Mary tugs the blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it down the couch. Steve’s feet still stick out the end, but he’s mostly covered, one more layer between him and the world.

“Thank you,” Steve says as they listen to the sound of Danny’s car in the driveway.

“You’re welcome,” Mary replies, keeping a protective hand on Steve’s back as the front door opens and Danny walks in. “I’m here for as long as you need me, okay?”

“Thank you,” Steve repeats, sounding ragged and tired, yeah, but Mary recognizes her brother under there, always so ready to take on the world.

She’ll be right there beside him in this fight. It’s one thing she can actually help with.


End file.
